Uther had reached the head of the stairway. He took her hands, and there in front of the lighted door, with his enemies’ swords catching the torchlight below him, the King bent his head and kissed Ygraine. The scarlet cloak swung round both of them, engulfing the white. Beyond them I saw the shadow of the old woman, Marcia, holding the door.

Then the King said: “Come,” and with the great cloak still covering them both, he led her into the firelight, and the door shut behind them.

So we took Tintagel.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

WE were well served that night, Ulfin and I. The chamber door was hardly shut, leaving us islanded halfway up the flight between the door and the guards below, when I heard Ralf’s voice again, easy and quick above the slither of swords being sheathed:

“Gods and angels, what a night’s work! And I still have to guide him back when it’s done! You’ve a fire in the room yonder? Good. We’ll have a chance to dry off while we’re waiting. You can get yourselves off now and leave this trick to us. Go on, what are you waiting for? You’ve had your orders—and no word of this, mark you, to anyone that comes.”

One of the guards, settling his sword home, turned straight back into the guard-room, but the other hesitated, glancing up towards me. “My lord Brithael, is that right? We go off watch?”

I started slowly down the stairs. “Quite right. You can go. We’ll send the porter for you when we want to leave. And above all, not a word of the Duke’s presence. See to it.” I turned to Ulfin, big-eyed on the stairs behind me. “Jordan, you go up to the chamber door yonder and stand guard. So, give me your cloak. I’ll take it to the fire.”

As he went thankfully, his sword at last ready in his hand, I heard Ralf crossing the guard-room below, underlining my orders with what threats I could only guess at. I went down the steps, not hurrying, to give him time to get rid of the men.

I heard the inner door shut, and went in. The guard-room, brightly lit by the torch and the blazing fire, was empty save for ourselves.

Ralf gave me a smile, gay and threadbare with nerves. “Not again, even to please my lady, for all the gold in Cornwall!”

“There will be no need again. You have done more than well, Ralf. The King will not forget.”

He reached up to put the torch in a socket, saw my face, and said anxiously: “What is it, sir? Are you ill?”

“No. Does that door lock?” I nodded at the shut door through which the guards had gone.